


a very good blade

by Carmarthen



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo, Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Rómeó és Júlia (Színház)
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Knifeplay, M/M, Timeline What Timeline, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 04:31:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmarthen/pseuds/Carmarthen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which, all timelines to the contrary, a young Parisian thief and knife-murderer meets a Veronese nobleman in a dark alley, and there is UST and vague hints of knifeplay. (Operettszínház Tybalt as usual.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	a very good blade

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fic. Don't think about it too hard.

The pretty young nobleman had seemed an easy mark, stumbling out of the brothel with the uneasy walk of the drunk, long limbs loose and uncontrolled; he did not even have any servants at his heel. Tempting prey: for all their fine fencing masters, half of these nobles scarcely knew which end of a sword was which, and pickings had been lean for Montparnasse of late. He had a lifestyle to maintain.

Yet somehow, when Montparnasse had slipped out of the shadows, knife at the ready and demanding the noble’s purse, he had ended up pinned against the dirty wall of the alley, without finesse but no less effectively—his doublet would be ruined, he lamented, and it nearly new—a dagger-point pricking at the hollow of his throat and his own knife pressed to the pale stretch of the nobleman’s neck.

His hand trembled; a thin line of blood sprang to the surface of the skin, dark in the moonlight, and something shifted in the noble’s angry gaze, his snarl fading into guilty speculation. Montparnasse was abruptly aware of where their bodies touched, the tall lean weight of the nobleman against his own lithe elegance, the taut hard muscle of a thigh pressed between his legs—no soft princeling, this one. A pretty picture they would make, he was sure, for those of certain tastes.

Well, he was not averse; and certainly whatever the nobleman wanted, it was better than a fight that might risk scarring his face. That would never do.

"You have a fine hand with a dagger, my lord," he murmured, dropping his gaze and biting his lip; he could still feel the dagger point pricking his throat when he swallowed, and the awareness curled through him, hot and mingled with the soaring of fear.

"As do you." The response bordered on surliness, but the noble removed himself from Montparnasse’s reach and sheathed his dagger, which relieved and disappointed Montparnasse in nearly equal measure. “Run along, thief, and I won’t kill you this time."

Montparnasse considered, briefly, suggesting something else—he _was_ curious, the nobleman _was_ very pretty, he had not had a good tumble in longer than he cared to contemplate—but there was a tension in the noble’s stance, a suggestion that he might be better off courting one of the lions in the Prince’s menagerie, that made him reconsider.

A pity, he thought, edging away down the alley and back into the main street. It would have been terribly interesting.


End file.
